


Skin Deep

by GabrielLives



Category: Supernatural, look - Fandom
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Shifters, The Trickster - Freeform, Victim Sam Winchester, and blatant sexual assalt, i hurt sam too much in this fic, i sure cant find any, i think i wrote the first fan fiction for Look, loki supernatural, non con for sure, non-Gabriel richard speight jr bang, set a little before tall tales, so if that bothers you please dont read this, the character i wrote for the bang is a rapist, there is a lot of lead up, there is no explicit rape, tied up sam winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 21:15:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17947262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GabrielLives/pseuds/GabrielLives
Summary: When a string of rapes becomes a case for Sam and Dean Winchester, they cross paths with a being they thought they killed at Crawford Hall in Ohio. But what is he really? Could the Trickster really still be alive? And can Sam and Dean find and kill the culprit before he strikes again.





	1. Ohio

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my goodness! I have finished my fic for the Non-Gabriel Richard Speight Jr Bang! I never thought this would happen. After starting, scrapping it, changing characters, then scrambling to get it done, I am so happy that I finished this. It is very weird writing a character that has no name. Giving him one was even harder. 
> 
> I would like to say a giant THANK YOU to @warlockwriter for just about everything. Being a mod and letting me post late, wrangling T Rickster (hes a handful), making me some amazing moodboards and title card, and then helping me post them to the fic. I can't thank you enough!!
> 
> PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!!! The character I settled on was the rapist from the TV show Look. If you've never seen it, Rich is just so terrifying in it. He is not a nice person. And hopefully what I wrote wraps up his story the way he deserves.

The Smiling Skull Saloon was a typical hole in the wall dive bar. Just a small biker bar, mismatched tables and chairs shoved in haphazardly around the support pillars. The walls and ceiling were covered fully with framed pictures of classic motorcycles, scantily clad women and stainless steel beer decals.

It had its regulars. Rough and tumble men who came in with axle grease on their hands and stories to tell whoever occupied the rickety stool next to them at the bar. The waitress knew them all by name.

Usually, the Smiling Skull was dead. A few night shift workers hung around during the day, never seeming to want to leave. Business picked up after the sun went down, but during the week it was easy to walk the narrow maze of aisles the tables formed. But on Friday and Saturday night, bodies poured into the bar, packed in so tight they looked like sardines.

A less than twenty minute walk down the road was Ohio University, and The Skull, as it was known amongst the students (and some of the faculty) was certainly not popular, but it still managed to pull in its fair share of the bleary eyed and exhausted student body looking to drown their anxiety and educational duties in alcohol for a few hours. The small stage in the corner was barely big enough for a sized down drum set, but that didn't stop a few college bands or a person with an acoustic guitar from booking a night and playing to the crowd. Young musicians played to their friends, whooping long into the night as the liquor flowed, patrons having to lean over the bar to shout their orders to the bartenders.

Tonight was more of the same for a nice autumn Saturday night. Out back, the open patio was full to the brim, students and leather clad bikers mingled together. The blatant differences in lifestyles obviously posing no real barrier for drunken conversations and raucous laughter. The inside of the bar was no better. Or no worse, it would seem. The same odd mixture of well worn leather and ironically yet artfully torn jeans.

The three piece band played cover songs that the let the old reminisce and the young bop their heads like they are hearing them for the first time. The aisles were full, no room to barely pull out the chairs at the tables, and people laughed and talked over the music.

At the far corner of the bar, as far from the door as she could sit, sat a woman who looked a little out of place. The casual air of the bar seemed not to find her, the red dress she wore making her stick out amongst the rabble of the crowd. She sipped her drink, a fancy Cosmopolitan, as she looked over the crowd. It was good, she thought as she drank, surprised that a dingy hole in the wall carried the top shelf vodka.

No one bothered her even though she could feel the gazes of men around her raking up and down her body. She hated the feeling. She was tired of being the prey. From now on, she would be the hunter.

She would make the people around her weak, powerless and fearful.

A young man slid gracefully up to the bar next to her, signaled the bartender for another drink. He turned to her, that familiar predatory gleam in his eyes.

“Hi,” he yelled over the loud music. “Buy you a drink?”

She looked him over. Strong, handsome, tall. _Yeah,_ she thought, _this body will do._ With a sly smile and a wink, she swallowed the last of her cosmo, dropping the empty glass to the bartop.

“Sure thing,” she said as she leaned in close, watching his eyes drop down to her cleavage. “What’s your name?”

“Bruno,” he said, offering his hand out for her to shake.

She gently grasped it, giving a squeeze. “Renee.”

Fresh drinks were placed on the bartop, and Bruno picked them up, handing Renee her glass. Their fingers brushed together deliberately, and Renee forced down a scowl at the unwanted touch.

They talked for a bit as they drank, Bruno scooting closer and closer to Renee’s stool, blocking her in and placing a hand on her back now and again. Renee played her part, smiling bright and laughing at all the right times. Two more rounds later and she had him wrapped around her little finger.

“You wanna get outta here?” Renee asked, a well placed hand caressing along Bruno’s arm. He smiled, but it was crooked, too sharp. Like he still thought he had control here. “Let’s take a walk.”

Bruno leaned in close, the smell of alcohol on his warm breath, his hands snaking their way up Renee’s back and grasping the nape of her neck. Not a rough grip, but just enough for her to feel it. To make _him_ feel powerful.

“Hell yes,” he whispered, the twang of his voice holding a hint of an edge. Renee knew this boy had his plans for the night. But she had her own, and she was more dangerous.

They gathered their things, Renee’s arm in his as they left. She kept the starry eyed look as she gazed up at Bruno, still wearing a mask of being totally smitten as they walked out of the bar together, unaware that a pair of golden eyes were watching them from behind a pint glass as they left.

~~

The autumn night was brisk for this time of year, and a slight shiver ran through Renee as she and Bruno walked the streets. Bruno offered his jacket to her and she gladly took it.

“So,” he asked as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, “where are we off to? I can call my room-mate and have him clear out the dorm. We can order pizza and watch some Skinemax.”

 _Oh, lord,_ Renee thought as she struggled not to roll her eyes, _I weep for the future._

“Actually, let me take you to a special place I know.” She clutched tighter, guiding their walk towards the wide running path by the nearby river. “It’s secluded and romantic. No one will bother us there.”

Bruno seemed to think about it for a moment, but soon enough the seductive smile Renee was wearing and the way her breasts looked so good around the loose fabric of his jacket, and any reservations he had were gone. “Lead the way, babe,” he said with a grand gesture and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

It was only a few minutes to walk and be out of sight of the businesses and homes lining the river. Renee had walked this way before, when she needed to. Taking too many is always a risk, and if her old clan taught her nothing else, it was _change as a last resort._

Their walk was...nice. Bruno talked about himself a lot while Renee dodged his questions about her life artfully. He never noticed that he never really got an answer. They rounded a corner, and Renee decided that this was far enough away that if Bruno screamed, no one would hear him.

“This is nice,” she said, slowing her pace and turning to watch the river flow by. “I love the water. It’s pretty.” Renee flashed an innocent smile, the moonlight sparkling in her eyes.

Bruno gazed down at her, taken in by her charms. “You’re prettier.”

This, right now, was the perfect time.

Bruno pressed her closer to him, and so slowly, lifted a hand to gently touch under her chin.

Renee’s eyes took in all the details she could, her eyes searching his face as Bruno leaned in for a kiss. The cells in her body altered, modified to take in the new information. A new layer of skin began to form under the surface, and Renee stealthily reached for her knife, ready to strike as Bruno closed his eyes.

“Excuse me!”

An intruding voice rang out, and both Renee and Bruno whipped their eyes over to the man standing on the path.

He was an average height, it seemed, but there was nothing else about him that Renee would describe as average. Golden hair shined in the moonlight, and even though she thought they were too far apart to be able to tell, his eyes _glowed_ the same brilliant gold. His face was sharp, yet pleasing, and his lips were turned up in a smirk to match. And the worst part? Renee could just _feel_ the power radiating off him.

This was not good.

“Can we help you?” Bruno asked, totally unaware of what it was that was confronting them.

“No,” the stranger said through his grin, “but I think I’ll be helping you tonight.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Bruno started getting defensive, pushing Renee back and stretching himself up to his full height and puffing his chest out, trying to protecting her. When the stranger only laughed, Bruno started to get angry. “Look, guy, you better just back off.”

“‘Fraid I can’t do that.” The smile dropped from his face, and suddenly he was deadly serious. “Trust me,” he said as he eyed Renee dangerously, “you _need_ my help.”

“I don’t know who you think you are,” Bruno yelled as the other man rolled his eyes and raised his hands, “but if you don't leave right now I will fu-”

A snap rang out in the night, and suddenly Renee’s buffer was gone. There was nothing standing between her and this man who might have been more powerful than first thought. But she knew to never show fear, never back down in a fight. Renee was powerful in her own right, and the urge to survive had saved her from death more than once.

“Hey, man, what the fuck?!” Renee shouted across the path, “where’d you send him?”

“Home. Where he’d be safe from you.” He started walking towards her, cocky smile back as he advanced. “You were sloppy, easy to spot while you hunted.”

Renee’s breath quickened as he drew closer, and she drew out her knife in one swift move. She was confident, strong in her stance as she faced down this man.

He walked right up to her, only offering a passing glance to the knife pressed into his chest. His golden eyes sparkled as he spoke. “I know what you are.”

Renee shifted, nervousness finally showing in her face. “Oh yeah? What am I then, asshole?”

He leaned in, just a bit closer like he was sharing a secret, and whispered, “You're a shifter.”

Renee stepped back, startled at being found out. But she still tried to protect herself.

“Wha…? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure you're just a girl looking for a good time. Am I right? Hmm?”

They stared at each other, neither making another move. The only sound that could be heard was Renee’s ragged breathing.

“And what are you, eh?” she asked, fire in her eyes. “You vanished my date with a snap. Probably sent him to the sun or something. You're not human either.” The man chuckled lightly. “What. _Are._ You?”

“Just your regular ol’ neighborhood Trickster.” His eyes went dark, and he frowned. “But you can call me Loki.”

At that moment, time seemed to freeze. A thousand thoughts ran through Renee’s mind, namely getting the hell out of there. Loki’s hand snatched up at lightning quick speed, clamping onto her arm and squeezing. Hard.

Her cells changed again, morphing as quickly as she was able. Her wide eyes soaked in all the Trickster’s features, barely registering that her body was shifting into the image of the being in front of her.

“Now, look,” he started, his calm voice masking the anger that she knew was in him at this moment, “I’m a nice guy. And I’ve been…,” he paused with a purse of his lips, “you could say, protecting this college. Doling out justice while I’m waiting for someone.”

Renee struggled in Loki’s hold, forcing past the pins and needles feeling of the old skin separating from new. She only needed to keep him talking for a few more minutes.

“Let me go,” she growled.

“No can do, buttercup. That kid that you were gonna gut and throw away? He may not be next in line for sainthood, but, in the grand scheme of things, he is an innoce-ahhrrrgg!”

Loki was cut off with a cry, Renee unexpectedly flying forward and burying her knife to the hilt in the god’s chest. She twisted it, snarled in Loki’s face as she surged further forward. He staggered backwards, and as his grip tightened on her, Renee wrenched her arm, howling as the skin tore away. It slipped down as it degloved off of her, leaving the Trickster with a squishy, bloody mess. The knife pulled out of the trickster’s chest as he fell back, Renee not giving a second look as she turned and ran into the night.

 

~~

 

“Oh my god, Ro. You would have killed over laughing at me.”

“I can only imagine,” Rowena said with a grin as she bounced around, fiddling with books and ingredients around her current hide-away.

“Here I am, wandering through a Walmart at one am, blood soaking through the denim of Bruno’s jacket, shoeless and probably looking like I was attacked, _which I was,_ trying to find clothes for a body I had barely even seen. Three separate people asked if I needed help. Three! Do you know the kind of weirdos walking around a Walmart at one in the morning?!”

Rowena didn't answer, but her coy little smile seemed to say enough.

“Shut your mouth, Rowena,” the shifter said through his own smile. Rowena put her hands up in defense.

“If you were in there, love, I can guarantee you take the weird cake.”

“Pretty sure,” he laughed. “Anyway, I looked like a crackhead buying pajamas and t-shirts that were too damn big anyway, and left Renee’s sweet bod in an alley a little ways from there.” He sighed wistfully, “Gonna miss the old girl.”

“You and me both, dear,” Rowena murmured.

From his chair, the shifter threw his arms out, gesturing to all of him. “Does this new body do nothing for you? Look at me, I’m cute.”

“Aye, right. You showed up a pile of blood and goo, wrapped up in dirty rags. First impressions must not be this man’s forte.”

That was true. He was lucky he didn't get a spell thrown right in his face when he got to Rowena’s place, less than an hour from where he was attacked by the Trickster. But Rowena was an old friend, had helped in the past, and the witch provided him with a shower and a new set of clothes.

Now the shifter wore Loki’s face, and he liked it. He meant what he said, he _was_ cute. But he also was able to blend in. To be noticed only in passing and quickly forgotten. No one followed him or asked if he needed help as he walked to Rowena’s place, even though he looked like he just killed a man.

This new body was an asset, and he thought he could have some fun with it.

“What about your name?” Rowena continued. “We can't actually call you Loki, can we now.”

“Hey, I’m not an idiot, Ro. I’m wearing a demigod’s face, I’m not stupid enough to use his name, too.” He stood, walking over to the pile of old clothes and pulled his wallet out of his purse. “I still have all of my old IDs from Renee, I figure I can just keep these. Keep being Renee, that is if you’d be a dear and change a few things for me.” He put on his best pouty face, really ratcheting up his new charm, and only getting a glare in return.

“I’m not your personal Department of Motor Vehicles,” Rowena drawled out in her Scottish accent. But a whimper and a childish lip being pushed out had Rowena sighing heavily and snatching the ID. “Oh, alright. The things I do for you.”

“You're the best, my love.”

Rowena grumbled something while walking over to her armoire of ingredients, pulling a few down and mixing a quick powder together. She dunked the plastic into the magical dust and muttered a few words. A quick flash of colored flames and she dug the changed ID out of the bowl and tossing it back.

“Here, you have been reborn,” Rowena said with a bit of sarcasm.

“Well, happy birthday to me. Rene. That’s me,” Rene smiled.

Rowena hummed, stalking towards him slowly. “Where are you headed off to now?”

“Probably go off to the west coast. Never been to L.A. before. And I gotta get away from that Trickster that’s still walking around. I’m sure he’s not going to be happy I took his face. Plus, you know, the knife to the chest.”

“Are you sure I couldn't convince you to stay for a bit?” she asked, fingers walking up Rene’s chest. “We could...have a bit of fun before you leave.” Rowena’s free hand snuck around to give his ass a squeeze, earning her a surprised yelp. “Such a nice wee tush.”

“Ro, please,” Rene said with a grin, pulling her hands away. “You're my friend. That’d be so weird.”

Rowena clicked her tongue and pouted, “I never get to have any fun.”

“Highly unlikely.”

Rene gathered up his things. He didn't have much, a few changes of clothes, his knife, and some other small odds and ends. It all fit into a backpack that Rowena had given him. She held out her hand as he walked to the door, a small charm cradled there.

“Here, take this.”

Rene took her gift, studied the small talisman. There was a stamped bit of metal, no bigger than a silver dollar, intricate sigils and runes patterned around it. Attached was a small green jewel, hanging separate and wrapped in fine gold wire.

“It’s for hiding,” Rowena explained. “This should keep you off the radar of just about everything I could think of, as long as you keep it on you.”

“Thanks, Ro,” Rene said softly. “Really.”

“Ah, it’s nothing really, just a little bit of this and that. Stay safe out there.”

“You know I always do.” Rene leaned in and gave Rowena a hug, pulling away to place a quick kiss on her cheek. “See ya ‘round, Ro.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose the name Rene for the shifter because it means "reborn" and it seemed rather fitting for a being who changes identity all the time. All of the names I chose have meaning. Bruno means "armor" in some languages. Rene wants to use his masculine form as her new armor from the world.


	2. California

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there is a description of a lead up to a rape, but I don't go into detail about the actual act. The scene stops right before the rape.
> 
> Please be aware.

Rene hot wired the first unlocked car he came across, a 1999 Pontiac Grand Prix he found a few blocks from Rowena’s place. It was a weird mossy green color, and dirty as hell on the inside, but he couldn’t afford to be picky right now. On his own, he could drive to California in about three days, and when he got there he could dump the car. Light it on fire, or something. Who cares. 

The first time it happened, he was gassing up at a dimly lit gas station off a lonely exit on a deserted stretch of I-70 in Illinois. He was the only one at the pumps, not surprising for a three am fill up, and as he was leaning against his car, a black SUV pulled in. It parked by the gas station door, and Rene watched as a young woman got out and walked inside.

He felt... something. An urge he'd never felt before. He stared through the glass windows of the station as she said something to the attendant, then came right back out, bathroom key in hand and headed to the bathroom at the side of the building. 

Moving quickly, Rene replaced the gas nozzle in its cradle, not bothering to see if he had a full tank or not. He palmed the pocket of his jacket for his knife, the familiar weight of it under his hand. As the woman disappeared around the corner, Rene checked that the attendant couldn't see him, and followed.

He didn't have a plan. Some grand scheme that he’d had in the back of his mind. He saw something he wanted. Why not just take it?

When he was in feminine bodies, people took from him. Or tried to, at least. They thought they found some shrinking violet just because the body he had was pretty, or too slight to be able to fight back. Oh, how wrong they had been. 

No one took anything from him.

The space on the side of the gas station was full of shadows, the artificial overhead lights not quite strong enough to chase away the dark. Rene rounded the corner just as the door to the women’s bathroom fell shut. He walked past it quietly, hiding behind a large dumpster instead. 

His knife came out, and it glinted in the light so pretty, he thought. Blood rushed in his veins, and soon Rene’s only thought was  _ this. _

The few minutes of waiting seemed to last forever, but soon the lock on the bathroom door clicked. The door swung open, blocking the pair from any prying eyes by the pumps or the road. In that moment, Rene pounced. 

He leapt forward, one arm wrapping around the woman’s neck and pulling back harshly, catching her off guard. Rene’s other arm wrapped around, the sharp point of the knife digging into her skin over her chest. The woman tried to cry out, but Rene’s grip on her neck tightened and all that came out was a choked off yelp.

“You better shut the fuck up and do what I say,” Rene growled in her ear, low and nasty. Another cry tried to escape the woman’s throat, and Rene slammed her head into the wall. 

“I said shut the fuck up!” The knife dug a little deeper, and the woman stumbled on her feet as her breathing stuttered. “You wanna die tonight? Do what I say and we won't have a problem.”

Rene pulled her back, dragging her behind the dumpster as she continued to whimper. He licked and bit at her neck sharply, enjoying her helpless sounds before he kicked her feet out from under her and they both fell to the ground, Rene heavily draping himself across her body. 

The knife never left her throat as he tore through her clothes and took what he wanted.

 

~~   
  


Rene was back on the road in no time, his knuckles still a bit bloody from a punch that knocked the woman out cold. Adrenaline pumped through him still, drawing out the experience as he relived it in his mind. 

It felt good. He liked it. The thought of being in control like that, having so much  _ power  _ over someone...yeah, he could definitely get used to that. He was floating, so high on arousal that before the sun was even peeking over the horizon, Rene had to pull off the interstate into one of those seedy “pay by the hour” motels to jack off. Then he showered and jacked off again. 

Traveling at night would be better, he decided, so Rene flopped onto the dirty motel bed, not daring to go under the covers, and slept for a while. 

He left when he felt like it, there was no real hurry to get to California, and what he thought would be a three day trip turned into five. Rene could barely cross over into a new state without stopping. He’d drive the interstate at night, keeping his eyes peeled for a desolate turn off with an all night gas station or motel or fast food joint. He’d park his car, and just wait. 

It didn't always work. Sitting around too long in a parking lot just waiting is sure to draw unwanted attention, and Rene definitely did not want that. 

He raped three more women before he reached California.

When Rene got to L.A., he just kind of drifted for a while. There was plenty of cash. In all his many years he had never used a bank. Why, when his identity changed as often as it did? 

Rene was a master of charming people around him, and he found creative ways to supplement his cash supply. There were men's shelters all around the city where he talked his way into a warm bed for the day. He convinced a few high end restaurant managers that he worked for a L.A. food bank. He'd leave with a few boxes of non perishables and keep them in his car, the one he did  _ not  _ dump the second he got into the city.

Rene kept a low profile. Days were spent sleeping in hotels, the shelters or his car parked where the cops couldn't accidentally stumble upon him. He was starting to think that Rowena's amulet, hidden under his shirt on a ball chain, kept him hidden from humans as well as the supernatural. Not that he was complaining, not by a long shot. 

Through the nights, Rene wandered around the city just trying to get familiar with it. He drove around, no destination in mind. He learned the back roads, the alleys, the pace of the heartbeat of Los Angeles. The city in the dead of night is so vastly different than during the day. The streets are practically empty, and in a city of four million you’d think there would be a little more bustle at night. 

Rene liked the empty streets, though. The ease with which he could cruise from one neighborhood to another excited him. He kept a mental list, places that he thought he could have a little fun in and not be...interrupted.

After a few weeks roaming through L.A., a night cook at one of the restaurants he frequented told him about a job he could get him. They were sharing a cigarette in the alley when the subject came up. Apparently, the cook knew a guy who knew a guy who ran a taxi company. Nothing big, not Yellow Cab status, of course. Just a small fleet of ten or so cars that drove around randomly looking for fares. The guy basically ran it out of a pole building on some acreage on the edge of the city. 

Good news: it paid cash. Better news: no background checks. The cook, Conrad, said all Rene had to do was show up with a drivers licence and talk to the owner. If he could slap five words together Conrad was sure he could get the job. 

In less than a week, Rene was behind the wheel of a cab.

And he loved it.

 

~~

 

The Impala roared as it drove down the streets of what looked to be an incredibly expensive neighborhood. She took turns too fast, her tires squealing as they searched for traction. Dean Winchester had a slip of paper in his hand as he gripped the wheel, an address scrawled out in his brother’s chicken scratch handwriting. His eyes bounced from the road to the paper to the fenced in homes, trying and failing to reach their destination. 

“Where is this place, Sam?” he asked, his brother scanning the homes from the passenger seat. “Are you sure you wrote it down right?”

“Yes, Dean,” Sam sighed. He had been dealing with Dean’s attitude about this maybe-case since they started driving from Bobby’s place. “I double checked it with Molly before I got off the phone with her.” And then he couldn’t resist adding a dig at his brother. “Maybe your sense of direction is failing, old man.”

The affronted look Dean shot at him was worth the empty Big Gulp cup that hit Sam square in the face.

“‘M not old, Sam. I’m only twenty nine.”

“Well, they say the body starts falling apart at thirty. Maybe you just have early onset forgetfulness,” Sam laughed.

“Yeah, whatever, bitch.”

Sam could only shake his head and smile out the window, looking for the right house number. “Jerk.” 

“So, tell me the case again while I get us more lost,” Dean said as he took another turn down a road Sam was sure they’ve already been down. 

“Um, yeah…” Sam shuffled around and grabbed a few pages of handwritten notes, “Molly Edwards called me about a week ago.”

“That’s Ray Edwards’ daughter,” Dean added. “One of dad’s old hunting contacts.”

“Yeah, they ran together a little in the late eighties and early nineties. Ray left major hunting behind when his daughter was born.”

“Can't say I blame him for that,” Dean muttered.

“Me either.” Sam continued, “So, Molly called one of your old phones hysterical. Said that something had happened, that she was positive a shifter was involved. I couldn't get too much out of her other than her dad went looking for it and ended up in the hospital, and that she needed help.”

“How’d she even get our number?” Dean asked incredulously as he eyed the road.

“Apparently Ray kept dad’s number in his phone and Molly must’ve known he was a hunter. I mean, if she knows what a shifter is, she probably knows they worked together. And, you know,” Sam squirmed in his seat, “we haven't canceled dad’s phone or anything, and the voicemail still says to call you.”

For a moment, there was silence. Only the sound of Baby’s engine floating between the brothers. 

“Yeah, well,” Dean said, breaking the silence and clasping a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “let’s see what this girl’s story is.”

Dean gave Sam a warm smile, then a few minutes later cheered triumphantly as he pulled into the driveway of an extravagant three story tudor style home. 

“Shit, dude,” Dean whistled, “this is way nicer than any motel room we’ll ever stay in.”

Sam sided-eyed his brother. “Ya think, Dean?”

The older hunter’s excited gaze fell to his brother, an awkward frown forming at Sam’s disappointed look. He coughed stiffly, turning away to ring the bell on the wrought iron gate.


	3. The Case

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter gets pretty graphic. There is no penetrative rape. But it is very much non-con. I will put a short description at the end of the chapter if you would like to skip ahead and find out what happens.
> 
> Molly is a charater from Look, the tv show. If you have seen it, you know her story. If not, Molly gets into a fight with her friend about a boy. Her friend is having sex with her crush, and Molly finds out that the two of them were planning to have Molly and her crush have sex and secretly film it, all as a huge joke. She runs away, right into the cab of Rich's character, who is the rapist. 
> 
> Its a terrible scene. I have never been more fearful of Rich. Damn he's so talented.

 

“Thanks so much for coming,” Molly Edwards said as she sat down on the couch, a tray of drinks set on the coffee table between the three of them. “Honestly, I didn't know who else to call. My dad doesn't run in any hunter’s circles anymore, and John, your dad, he’s the only name in my dad’s phone that I recognise.”

“It’s alright, Molly,” said Sam, always the first to offer sympathy. “We’re happy to help in any way we can.”

Molly nodded, worry set in her features and she wrung her hands in her lap. A loaded glance passed between the brothers, uneasy building as they took in her injuries. Purpling bruises littered her skin. It looked like she had taken a punch straight to the eye, the black eye spreading far across her face. There was a line of discoloration on her throat, and even though Molly tried using a high collar to hide it, the clear outline of a hand could be seen. There were a few shallow cuts, just a common straight edge knife as far as Sam could tell, and it looked like there was a little bit of asphalt burn across the back of her neck.

She looked like she had the shit beat out of her.

Dean let out a sigh before he spoke. “Just tell us what happened. We’ll do what we do best. Catch the monster.”

“Uhh, ok,” Molly swallowed a whimper and continued. “I had just gotten into a fight with a friend, or someone I thought was a friend. It’s not important anymore. I ran, jumped in a taxi. I just wanted to go home and forget the whole night even happened. When,” Molly paused, let out a shaky breath and kept going “we got to my house, the car door wouldn't open. I thought it was just broken. The driver opened it for me. He…he seemed so nice.” A few tears trailed a path down her cheek. She took a moment to gather herself as Sam and Dean prepared themselves to hear the rest of her story. “He grabbed me right before I could open the gate. He had a knife, said to do what he said. He was so angry.” Molly’s fearful expression hardened, and for a moment there was only pure hatred in her eyes. “He raped me. Right in the back of his car and no one came to help me. _No one._ ”

“Molly,” she looked up at Sam, the anger fading and nothing but shame on her face, “I’m so sorry that happened to you.” Molly looked away. “But you need to know that it wasn't your fault.”

“Yeah, I guess,” was her weak response.

“Look, Molly,” Dean spoke up, “this is a terrible situation that no one should ever go through. And I don't wanna sound insensitive, but how do you know he was a shifter?”  
“The police, they showed me some camera footage they found from where he picked me up. The eye flare, I could see it. That’s a shifter trait, right? My dad hasn’t taught me that much about hunting, but I know how to identify a monster.”

“No, that’s right.” Sam spoke up, cutting off the anger that was welling up in Molly. “You're absolutely right. That definitely sounds like a shifter.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Dean stood, paced the living room as he tried to calm down. He hadn't meant to upset Molly, he just wasn't as good as Sam when it came to talking to the victims.

“Well,” Sam said, “Molly, is there any more information you have? Did the police tell you anything? Your dad? Anything else about the shifter that you can remember?”

Molly got up, shoved past Dean without looking at him, and the sound of rustling papers could be heard in the other room. She came back in the room and handed Sam a stack of official looking papers.

“This is all from the police report. Hospital stuff, everything they have since the last time I hacked their system.”

Dean’s mouth quirked in approval as Sam rifled through the pile of reports. He stopped suddenly, one paper in particular catching his eye as the others fell forgotten onto the coffee table.

“Holy shit, Dean. Look at this.”

Sam held up the paper so Dean could see. It was a police sketch, rough and ready but Sam could recognize that face anywhere.

“Oh, damn,” Dean breathed out. “It’s that fucking Trickster.”

 

~~

 

Sam couldn't believe this. Not the fact that the Trickster was alive, he had an inkling that the demigod survived being stabbed with the wooden stake when the bed didn't disappear from the auditorium at Crawford Hall back in Ohio. But this? This was so out of his wheel well, it wasn't even funny. Sam had dug a little deeper into this case, and found that the Trickster, or at least someone who looks like him, was wanted in connection for at least four other rapes in California and a few in other states that formed a convenient line from Ohio to California.

Was this _really_ the work of a Trickster? A being for who justice was such a huge part of it’s MO? Where was the justice in this? This… this was just horrible.

The surveillance footage confirmed the shifter theory. It was grainy, hard to get any real details about the driver, but the flash in the eyes was clear, and the silver knives were dug out of the trunk of the Impala.

The problem now? Where the hell they find this guy. They have no real information to go on. A call to the cab company that Molly said picked her up was never answered, and they couldn't find an address for it anywhere. The police files were no help either. They knew he was out there, and they had even less information than Sam and Dean did.

Splitting up had been Dean’s idea, of course. Said that since they knew what they were dealing with already, they didn't have to canvas the neighborhood where Molly was picked up together. It didn't really make sense to Sam. You're always safer together when you fight a shifter.

He had been at this all day and this was going nowhere. Sam had walked his way through five square blocks looking for someone, _anyone,_ who had seen a man who matched their poorly printed police sketch. He was dressed up in his nicest suit, trying to pass himself off as a private detective to two stoner kids working at this gas station. At least, Sam thought at least one of them worked  there. Willie, the kid behind the counter, was the best thing Sam could find to a lead all day.

After Sam had shown them the police sketch, Willie had brightened. He said that the guy had been in a bunch to buy beer and condoms. Sam repressed a shudder but rejoiced that he had a starting place. He and Dean could stake out the station that night, see if the guy came by and they could follow him to where he was staying.

Sam was leaning against a borrowed car, Molly’s dad’s, his phone in his hands ready to text Dean about his discovery and check in, when to his surprise, he spotted the very man he was looking for walking confidently down the street. Sam gasped, even in the darkening daylight he was a spitting image of the Trickster. So much so that if he hadn't seen the surveillance footage himself, he would have thought it _was_ the Trickster.

Sam pocketed his phone without taking his eyes off his target, the message to his brother half typed and waiting to be sent. The car was left behind, forgotten as he slowly started walking. It was late, the bustle of the daytime crowd thinned out dramatically, so Sam kept his paces slow. He watched the man closely, anger rising up in him as he followed. Every now and again, Sam could see a wicked smile cross the man’s face as he ogled women that walked past him. But Sam kept himself from straight up tackling the man, waiting for the perfect time to attack. He needed surprise, and no civilians to get hurt, when Sam ambushed him.

They walked for a few blocks before the man took a sharp turn down an alley. Sam knew this was his chance, and growled in anger when he realized that he didn't have his silver knife on him.

He cursed whoever first sewed slacks without tactical pockets.

With no weapon, Sam was at an even greater disadvantage. But he grit his teeth, and with a few steeling breaths he stepped into the alley. Sam’s sharp eyes scanned the darkening alley, but there was no sign of the man. He stepped silently down the alleyway, fists clenched and ready to pounce. A crash sounded behind him, and Sam turned, nearly jumped out of his skin as what was probably a cat skittered away, yowling.  He sighed and rolled his eyes, upset with the interruption.

Before he even had the chance to turn back around, Sam felt something smash into his head and he crumbled to the ground with a strangled shout. His vision blurred as he writhed, and he could feel himself struggling to stay awake.

The sound of shoes scraping across the pavement approached him. Against the inky blue sky a shadow appeared above him.

“Nighty night,” the shadow singsonged, and Sam struggled not to cry out his brother’s name in panic as he slowly passed out.

 

~~

 

This was bad, Dean knew it. It’d been hours since Sam’s last check in, and the older hunter was freaking out.

“No, something's happened,” Dean muttered as he paced Molly’s living room. “Sam always knows to call.”

“I’m sure he’s fine.” Molly wasn't sure that she believed that herself, nervousness making her voice quiver. “He’s not even an hour late.”

“That’s not how Sam works,” Dean said flatly as he pulled out his brother’s laptop. “He’s never late with a check in. Something went wrong.”

From her seat on the couch, Dean could hear Molly start to panic, her breathing becoming a little more rough. “Do-do you think he found that guy?” She leapt off the couch, scrambling away from the large windows and hovering by Dean. “Does he know we’re looking for him?! He already knows where I live, Dean!”

“Hey, relax! You're freakin’ out.” Dean looked up from his key clacking to try and calm Molly. He gently grasped her arm, and waited until she looked at him. “You're safe with me, and Sam would rather d- well, he would never put you in danger again. Understand?” Molly took a long breath, and eventually nodded her head. “Good.” Dean looked back to the computer, fingers sweeping across the keyboard. “We’ll find Sam and figure out what happened.”

“What are you doing?” Molly asked as she peaked at the computer screen over his shoulder.

“Tracking Sam’s phone.”

“Oh,” she breathed, “that’s cool.”

A small smile formed on Dean’s face as he typed Sam’s number into the GPS tracking page. “Okaaaaay,” he drew the word out as he typed. “And now…” Dean hit the enter key, “this will tell us where Sam is. Or at least his phone, I guess.”

The little loading icon turned, over and over again as Dean held his breath. As he watched and waited, a million questions and scenarios ran through Dean’s mind. Was Sam was captured by the shifter? What if he randomly got hit by a car? Did he drop his phone down the drain again? Could Molly be right? Was he viciously tortured and told the shifter he was a hunter? Was that god damn shifter going to ra-

The high pitched ding of the site loading drew Dean out of his thoughts with shaky quick breaths. His heart was pounding a little too much for his liking, too. _Gotta keep it together,_ he thought to himself.

“There.” Dean pointed to the little red dot on the screen. “That’s where I start looking.” The hunter jumped out of his chair, startling Molly again.

“What about me?” she asked weakly, her arms wrapping around her. “I don't wanna be here by myself.”

“No, I wouldn't think so.” Dean scooped up his keys and his weapons bag. “You got anyone around here you feel safe with?” Molly thought for a second, then nodded her head. “Good. go pack a bag. We leave in five.”

 

~~  


Rene could stare at this for hours.

This incredible specimen of a man all trussed up, just for him. It surprised him a little that it was a turn on, but hey, why not indulge? Every twitch of those muscles, every slow intake of breath, the softness of his features while he was out cold. Oh, yeah, this was doing it for him.

Finally, he started to wake up. Rene watched his whole body tighten up, no doubt from the pain in his head. A small moan escaped him, and Rene nearly matched it, barely able to keep himself in control. He watched as a tied down arm tried to move, tried to rub the headache away, and marveled at the sight of realization cascading over his captive.

“Sam Winchester,” Rene smoothly crooned out, a wicked smile on his lips. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Sam froze immediately, fully awake and incredibly aware of the other man in the room. He scowled deeply, a mix of anger with a touch of fear, as Rene watched him test his bonds fruitlessly.

“Struggle all you want, Sam,” Rene leaned forward in his metal folding chair, his chin resting in his hand, “I’ve tied a knot or two in my life.”

“How do you know who I am?” Sam spat.

“Jumping right to the point, I see.” Rene stood, loving the little flinch it dragged out of Sam. “Well, no doubt you recognize this handsome mug?” he asked twirling his finger around his face. Rene didn't wait for a response and kept talking. “ I know you know I’m a shifter. And I know you know how they work, Sam. I took the Trickster’s face, and left him alive. I have access to all his memories. I can see you in the Trickster’s past. I know exactly who you and your brother are.”

“Then you’ll know what we’ll do to you. We kill things like you.”

Rene smiled, not phased at all by Sam’s vitriol. “Oh? And how do you plan to do that, given your current situation?”

His scowl softened a little, a frown still remaining on his face as he reluctantly looked away from the threat to assess himself. His legs were tied at the ankles, knees and thighs, sticking out in front of him. His shoes and socks were gone, but he still had his pants on. He was thankful for that. His wrists were bound behind his back and around a steel support pole. His suit jacket was gone (and his phone with it), his white button up dirty and bloody, and his tie had been undone and looped repeatedly around his neck and the pole. The concrete floor was cold under him.

The room around him wasn't any better. As far as he could tell the pole he was tied to was in the center of the room, just enough room for the full size mattress that was crammed in behind him. The only other furniture was the chair that his captor had vacated. There were no windows, and the only light was from the dim single bulb hanging from the ceiling. The door was made of wood, the entirety of it covered with people’s scrawled names and dates.

Everything about the room screamed _Run!_

“Where are we?” Sam’s voice wavered slightly.

“The back room of a porn store.”

And Sam’s heart jumped into his throat.

“The owner is a buddy of mine, good guy. He’d definitely help out a friend and his date who took a spill after one too many drinks.” Rene flashed a wicked smirk. “Wanna hear the best part? He gave us the ‘best’ room. What do you think the others even look like?”

Rene’s laughter filled the small space as Sam’s lips curled in disgust.

“Oh, don't be that way, Sammy,” Rene said as his laughter died down a bit, circling around Sam. “This could be _fun._ ” He watched Sam’s eyes go wide as he disappeared behind him. It gave Rene a sharp pang of excitement. He let his fingers trail a path across Sam's broad shoulders as he stepped over the dirty mattress.

“Don't touch me,” Sam hissed, his body tensing as he struggled in his ropes.

“If you don't want to play,” Rene ignored him and pulled out his knife, pressing the sharp edge into the soft skin of Sam's neck, “then I’ll make it fun for me.” The sickly sweetness of his voice did little to hide the dangerous undertones of the situation. Sam tried to pull away, shutting his eyes to the pain in his neck. A heavy weight settled into his lap, and Sam whimpered. “Mmm, I love that sound,” Rene growled.

“N-no, stop.”

“You know,” Rene’s free hand came up to gently caress Sam’s taught neck, fingers creeping down slowly as he spoke, “I’ve taken men in this body. I’m not picky.” The hem of Sam’s shirt was lifted, and Rene pressed his palm into Sam’s hot skin. “And, _oh_ …” he gasped at the feeling of all that muscle under him, “I could _savor_ you, Sam Winchester.”

Sam grit his teeth, pressed back into the pole as far as he could go. The knife at his neck cut a little deeper, and Sam hissed when he felt the rivulet of blood trickle down to soak into the tie around his neck. Rene’s hand traveled higher, tracing the hills and valleys of Sam’s stomach and chest, the shirt pulling up with it.

“Take my time with you.” Rene leaned forward, took advantage of the exposed skin in front of him. He ran his tongue up Sam’s neck, all the way up to the shell of his ear, taking an indulgent nibble. “I bet you'd make the prettiest noises.”

Sam dragged in a shaky breath through his nose, his eyes shut tight and body tense.

“Let me hear you, right now.”

Rene rolled his hips forward, his now hard cock grinding against Sam. He moaned at the feeling, his head falling back in enjoyment. The only noise it drew out of Sam was a cut off grunt and a quiet hiss. That was not enough.

Suddenly, Rene had a fistful of Sam’s hair, twisting his fist and smashed the back of Sam’s head into the steel pole and the hunter cried out in pain. The blow nearly knocked Sam out again.

“I fucking said I wanna hear you!” Keeping a fistful of hair, Rene pulled back with the knife and slammed the handle down onto Sam’s face. Blood splattered, and Sam was reduced to gasping moans and pained shouts. “Oh yeah, baby. That’s so fucking beautiful.”

Rene ground down again and again, striking Sam with the butt of his knife every so often. Soon, he was reaching down for Sam’s belt buckle, but as he fumbled with the soft leather, ideas running through his head about how nice it would look tight around Sam’s neck, the wooden door flew open with a crash, Dean Winchester beyond the threshold, a machete in each hand. His eyes were wild, glinting with fury, and his knuckles were already coated in blood.

“Get the fuck off of him!” Dean roared, launching himself at the man attacking his baby brother.

Rene barely had time to duck away from the wild machete swing, rolling off Sam’s legs and dodging another blow. He sprang to his feet, the angry hunter between him, Sam and the door.

“Sam?” Dean called behind him, not daring to take his eyes off the shifter in front of him. “Sammy, can you hear me?” There was a weak moan, and all of Dean’s attention was back on the enemy in front of him. “I’m going to fucking _murder you_ for touching my brother,” he snarled.

“I’d like to see you try, pretty boy.” Rene wore a sharp grin, arms up and ready to do battle. “You do know I’m way stronger than you, right?”

“You do know these are silver, right?” Dean said as he raised the machetes up.

Rene’s smirk faltered for a moment, but then his golden eyes flashed with excitement, and he laughed. In a burst of speed, he launched himself at Dean, punching him square in the jaw and bouncing him off the concrete wall. Dean recovered quickly, feeling blood rushing down his face. He turned, ready to attack again, but before he could focus Rene slammed into him, _hard_. He cried out, almost dropping one of the machetes. Dean tightened his grip, a growl starting low in his throat and growing into a roar, and shoved back. The shifter was strong, stronger than Dean would have thought for that small of a body, but Dean managed to raise his arms, jamming the flat edge of the silver against Rene’s skin.

“AAAHHH! You goddamn son of a bitch!” Rene screamed and pulled away, the touch of the silver still sizzling on his skin. Using the diversion, Dean surged forward again, hacking away wildly at the shifter.

Sidestepping every blow, Rene ran behind Sam and over the mattress. Dean followed, but didn't see the obstacle on the floor. He tripped, weapons flying and clattering away from his reach. Rene scooped them up and threw them out the door and into the hallway.

“You want ‘em?” Rene panted as he watched Dean rise up from the floor. “I won't stop you. But the second you turn your back on me I’ll break your brother’s pretty neck.”

Dean wiped the blood from his eyes. “You won't touch him ever again. I’m gonna rip your arms of with my bare hands.”

“Like this is even close to a fair fight,” Rene said as he raised his fists. “Are you even entirely sure I’m what you think I am?” A sly grin formed as he and Dean circled the room, Sam slumped over unconscious between them. “Where’d you get your info from, hmm? The police? ‘Cause they're always the best source for your monster of the week.”

“It doesn't fucking matter what you are. Shifter, Trickster, I’m still gonna kill you.”

They continued to circle, each waiting for the chance to make a move. Green eyes bore into gold, fire and hatred in both their eyes.

Rene was so focused on Dean, that he lost his footing as he circled around to the mattress on the floor again. He faltered, swung his arms to catch his balance, and Dean surged forward. He grabbed Rene’s neck, squeezing hard as they both hit the wall, then collapsed on top of the mattress. Dean straddled Rene, every muscle locked and his eyes narrowed as he watched the shifter struggle for air.

Rene clawed at the arms holding him down, kicked his legs at nothing as he tried again and again to take in air. Blackness started to creep in around the edges of his vision, and he gathered all his strength for one last ditch effort to breathe. With one quick strike, he brought his fist down on Dean’s arm, thankful when he heard the bone crack. He pulled in huge gulps of air, coughing when he took in too much too fast.

Dean reeled back, screaming. His fingers tangled in the necklace around Rene’s neck. As Rene pushed Dean back to free himself from the hunter’s body, the chain broke, and Rene watched, horror on his face, as the amulet Rowena gave him skittered across the floor. He sighed in relief when it didn't break.

A punch to Dean’s stomach had the hunter rolling over, gasping for air and allowing Rene to get up and dust himself off.

“Well,” he started, indignant tone in his voice, “not that this hasn't been a whole boatload of laughs,” he landed a kick right to Dean’s face, “but I’m gonna scoot.” Rene started hobbling over to his protective charm, meaning to pick it up, make a quick escape and find a new face to steal. “Catch ya later, De-”

Before Rene could finish his sentence, a harsh gust of wind blew through the enclosed room. The air filled with static electricity, and in the time it took Rene to blink, a new man appeared in the room, his foot pressing the necklace to the floor.

“Found you, thief,” the new man said, and Rene cowered back.

“Loki,” he breathed, fear spiking in him.

“Have you had fun with my face?” Sarcasm dripped from Loki’s voice, and every step he took forward Rene stepped back. “Mmm,” Loki mused, his eyes glowing with bright light as he delved into Rene’s mind and memories. “I see.” The light faded. “You _have_ been busy.”

Rene backed into the wall, still unable to speak. He had no weapons on him, no way to fight this being that, even when he first met him, he knew he had no chance of beating it.

“What should I do with you?” Loki wondered aloud.

“D-don't tou-” Rene started to speak, but was silenced with a wave of Loki’s hand. He could feel the force of the being’s power against his whole body, the invisible pressure heavy and constricting.

“How many people have said that to you, cried it as their one and only hope, and you raped them anyway?” Anger poured out of Loki, and with another flick of his wrist, Rene was crushed further into the concrete wall, cracks forming around him as he tried to scream. “Your words have no meaning anymore, and you will suffer for what you have done until the end of time.”

Loki raised his hand, a long silver blade materializing there. He looked Rene in the eyes and smiled again.

“Have fun.”

He shoved the blade forward, piercing Rene’s neck and pinning him to the wall. There was a few wet gurgling gasps, and then nothing. Rene’s body hung limp, his head at an odd angle from where Loki’s blade had severed his spine. Loki pulled his blade out of the wall, not a spec of blood on it, and the body crumpled to the floor. He looked to Dean, clutching his broken arm as he sat on the floor and watched the whole scene unfold.

“Need a pick me up?” he asked somberly.

Dean glared back. “Sammy first.”

Loki nodded, and with a snap of his fingers the bindings were gone. Dropping to one knee, Loki placed two fingers to Sam’s forehead.

Sam woke violently, eyes jumping open wide and limbs flailing as he gasped in surprise.

“Hey!” Loki yelled, annoyed as he caught Sam’s fists coming towards him. “I’m not him. He’s dead.” He pointed to the body, and the younger hunter calmed slightly. Sam took a second to realize he was healed, the blood and dirt missing from his clothes.

“Dean?” Sam worried, looking at the demigod.

“Right here,” Dean spoke from behind him and Sam fully relaxed. “You can heal me now.”

Loki rolled his eyes at Dean trying to demand anything from him, but he snapped his fingers again, healing Dean’s broken bones and lacerations. “There ya go, ya baby. Need a lolli for being a big brave boy?” another snap, and there was a grape Dum-Dum hanging out of Dean’s mouth.

He promptly spit it out.

As Sam pulled himself up, Loki made his way over to the amulet that still lay discarded on the floor. When he turned back around, he almost laughed at the way Dean was checking Sam over. “Here,” he said as tossed the necklace to Sam, “keep this. It’s got some good protection magic built in. It won't be at full potency, ‘cause it’s not meant for you, but it has some use left in it.”

Sam turned the charm over in his hands, inspecting it and translating what runes he could. “What is it?” he asked.

“It looks like hiding magic. It kept that bastard off my radar while he wore it, so it’s good stuff.”

“Thanks,” said quietly. Loki smiled at him, sympathy in his eyes.

“You know,” Dean spoke up, breaking the look between the two of them, “I could have sworn I heard something when you showed up.” Loki quirked a questioning eyebrow at him. “It sounded like wings flapping.”

A tiny flinch ran through Loki, barely perceptible, but was quickly covered again with his typical overconfidence and swagger.

“What are you?” Dean asked.

“No, it’s too early.”

Dean scoffed. “Well, that’s cryptic.”

“Sorry, but all will become clear soon. Now,” Loki clapped his hands exuberantly, “you boys better get out of here. I kept the police back, but they’ll be here any minute.” He chuckled as he watched Sam and Dean panic a little, probably worried about all the evidence they’ll be leaving behind with a quick getaway. “Don't you worry your pretty little heads about it. I’ll take care of things here.”

Loki snapped, and suddenly they were in the Impala, reeling a little at the sudden change of locations.

“Do you think we can trust him?” Dean asked after he cleared his head with a shake.

“I don't know, Dean. He did save us.” Sam thought for a moment. “I think we can.”

They shared a look, a whole silent conversation passing between them, and then Dean nodded.

“Yeah. ok.”

Dean shuffled in his seat, digging the keys out of his pocket and starting the engine. He closed his eyes, the familiar sound of his car soothing him like no other thing could. He sighed, finally able to breath now that his brother was safe.

“Let’s go tell Molly it’s over.”

Sam nodded in agreement, thankful that they had good news for her. He felt Dean shift the Impala into drive and they took off, Baby’s tires squealing into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter summery:Sam and Dean get called to California because the daughter of one of their dad's old hunting contacts is raped by what she is sure it a shifter. The police sketch revels to the boys that it looks like the trickster. They split up to find more information. Sam gets captured. The rapist has Sam and starts to sexually assault him. Dean bursts in and they fight. The rapists protective amulet is flung off his body which gives the real trickster the opportunity to find him and swoop in to save Sam and Dean.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! I am proud that I was able to finish this, my longest one shot that I've ever written. It felt so good to finish it.


End file.
